


"I can take care of myself just fine."

by Lavender_and_Vanilla



Series: Mystrade Monday Part 2: Flash Fiction [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blood and Injury, Caring Mycroft, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, clueless Greg, mystrade, pre-Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26461501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: Greg is injured on the job and Mycroft finds he simply can't bury his feelings any longer.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes & Greg Lestrade & John Watson
Series: Mystrade Monday Part 2: Flash Fiction [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862299
Comments: 34
Kudos: 229





	"I can take care of myself just fine."

Donovan spoke urgently into her radio, “Man down! Second floor, flat 12A.” She looked over at the Met officer cuffing the suspect. “You have them?”

The officer grunted in assent. He hauled his prisoner to his feet and out the door.

Donovan glared at Sherlock standing nearby holding the knife that stabbed Greg. Blood dripped from the blade. “You, don’t move until someone collects the evidence.”

Sherlock tore his gaze from Greg on the floor of the flat and glanced at the weapon. He looked stunned. “No… no, of course not.”

Footsteps pounded up the stairs and John burst into the room. His eyes quickly scanned Sherlock and then he locked onto Greg, on the ground, leaning against a wall and holding tight to his left arm. Blood trickled out from between his fingers. “Oh shit.” He immediately knelt at Greg’s side. He pulled a pair of vinyl gloves from his pocket and snapped them on his hands. “What happened?”

“Boss here had to put himself between a blade and a civilian,” Sgt. Donovan reported dispassionately staring at Sherlock.

“He didn’t have to,” Sherlock corrected.

“Yeah, he did,” Donovan growled.

“No, he didn’t. I can take care of myself just fine,” Sherlock snapped.

John ripped open the sleeve exposing Greg’s arm. “Good thing you had a stab vest on,” he muttered.

Greg grunted. “You think you could get those two to shut up,” he asked, referring to the squabbling Sherlock and Donovan. “They’re making my head hurt.”

“I think that’s the blood loss,” John replied. “You want to let go of the wound and let me take a look.”

“Okay.” Greg released his grip on his upper left arm. Blood spurted and John quickly pressed his hands on the wound.

“Nicked your brachial artery, mate.”

“Ah, fuck.”

The room started to get very crowded as more officers came in to start processing the scene, and the EMTs arrived. Sherlock, relieved of the knife he’d taken off the suspect, came to John’s side.

“Lestrade, you should know that I was well aware of risks and…”

“Not now Sherlock,” John interrupted brusquely. He held on to Greg’s arm as the man was moved onto a stretcher. “I’ll see you at Baker Street later. You need to call Mycroft.”

“Mycroft?” Greg asked, but his question was lost in the hubbub getting him on the stretcher.

“Me?” Sherlock whined.

“Yeah, you,” John threw over his shoulder as the EMTs, Greg, on the stretcher, and he moved as a unit out the door and down the stairs.

* * *

Mycroft unlocked the door to Greg’s flat and ushered the injured man inside. Greg headed straight to the sofa, holding his left arm awkwardly at his side. “Thank you for the ride home, Mycroft,” Greg spoke as he settled on the sofa. “You’ve been a God send these last few days. I truly appreciate it.” Greg meant it. He wasn’t sure how he’d have managed without Mycroft, but he couldn’t expect the man to stick around much longer.

Mycroft sat the bag of prescriptions they’d picked up from the pharmacy on the small table in the kitchen nook. “You’re most welcome.”

Greg sniffed the air and looked about the flat. “You had the place cleaned?”

“Yes. I thought it might be nice to come home to a tidy space.” Mycroft hesitated briefly, “I’ve taken the liberty to have your refrigerator and cupboards stocked as well.”

“Wow. You didn’t have to do that.”

Mycroft slipped off his jacket and moved to fill the kettle. “Would you like some tea?”

“You don’t need to make me tea, Mycroft. You’ve already done plenty for me. You checked on me in hospital, brought me home, and now all this.” Greg started to wriggle out of his own jacket.

“Let me help.” Mycroft was at Greg’s side, easing the jacket off Greg’s injured arm.

“Thanks.” Once again Mycroft to his rescue. “I’m sure you’ve other things to do, you know, running the government and such.” Greg was going to miss all the attention Mycroft was paying him.

Mycroft hummed noncommittally and went back to preparing the tea. He brought over the steaming mugs and a small plate of biscuits. “I thought you might want something on your stomach before taking your next dose of medication.”

“Ta.” Greg took a biscuit and dunked it in his tea. He smiled a little at Mycroft’s moue of distaste. “You know, you don’t need to do all this.”

“I feel I must.” Mycroft sat down on the sofa next to Greg.

Greg sighed and finished his biscuit. “Look, I don’t blame you for this.” He gestured at his wound. “I don’t even blame Sherlock. It’s one of the risks of police work.” Greg took another biscuit from the plate. “I’m going to have another biscuit, take my medication and finish my tea. You’re going to go back to your office and not worry about me. I’ll miss you, but I’ll be fine.”

“Gregory, I’m not leaving and I’m not going to stop worrying about you. It’s too late for that.”

“What do you mean, it’s too late?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I mean I care about you, Gregory Lestrade. It’s not misplaced guilt for Sherlock’s behavior, that I’ve not left your side since you were injured. I’ve stayed with you all this time because I’m genuinely concerned for your health and well being.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh’.” Mycroft went back to drinking his tea.

Greg let Mycroft’s words sink in. “You like me,” he processed.

“Yes, I like you.” Mycroft caught the edge of his lip between his teeth and cut his eyes at Greg.

A lightbulb went on for Greg. He grinned widely and exclaimed with glee, “You _like me_ , like me.” Greg shifted over and kissed Mycroft’s cheek. “I like you too,” he murmured. Mycroft blushed and harrumphed. Greg laughed and leaned against Mycroft as Mycroft wrapped an arm around Greg’s shoulders. “Okay, you can stay.”


End file.
